Monthly Archives: July 2007

Dontcha wish you’d said that?

Don’t you just love it when someone else says something, so you don’t have to?

It’s a blogger’s joy when someone else says something the blogger wants to say but hasn’t yet done so, for any number of reasons big or small.

And, so, I am chortling happily at Tony Woodlief’s saying what I always wanted to say about those who go to church (or, to other august events, such as funerals) dressed in attire not even fit for taking out the trash at 2:00 A.M. on the darkest night of the year.

Here’s his opening salvo:

I’m looking forward to our new church sanctuary because it will have pews. Right now we sit on folding chairs, which is part of the reason why I had to stare at the pimply ass-crack of the young woman in front of me, until I left to sit in the lobby, where the view was brighter and the sermon sounded kinder. She was a visitor, and some grace must be afforded, though the regular member who brought her treated everyone to more than we needed to see of her lime-green underwear.

It gets better.  Much, much better.  Read the whole thing.  And, don’t overlook the comments.  A few of them are priceless, and Woodlief provides you with some nifty retorts to those who’d defend the thing Woodlief skewers.

I notice that Woodlief has filed this particular blog in a category named “irritations.”  Heh heh heh.

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Filed under Worship wars

Chicken With 100 Cloves of Garlic

  While still beset by projects domestic and ministerial, this blog must get by on less substantial apologetical or polemical fare.  But, as I have just gotten up from an evening repast that featured  Chicken with 100 Cloves of Garlic as the main dish, this dish – which has its peculiarly different appeals to men and women – will serve as satisfactory blog fodder for this weekend.

 You don’t need quite this much garlic, but almost

Did you know that Pliny the Roman historian lists no less than sixty-one medicinal uses for garlic? A few are:

  • Vampires flee from it.
  • Will cure a cold.
  • Will cure warts.
  • Will stop fainting spells.
  • Wards off the evil eye.
  • Will grow hair.
  • A restorative for failing masculine powers.
  • Alleviates high blood pressure.

Chicken with 100 Cloves of Garlic is actually a double recipe of Chicken with 50 Cloves of Garlic.  There were six at table this evening, and one chicken wouldn’t do.  So we cooked two.  The recipe is simple:

For each 3 to 4 pound roasting chicken, stuff the cavity with two sprigs of fresh rosemary, a couple of chunks of french bread, and as many cloves of garlic as the cavity will contain.  Rub the chicken with olive oil and a bit of salt and pepper.    Rub the interior of the roasting pan with olive oil as well.

Place the chicken and the remaining cloves of garlic along with a cup of water in a roasting pan with lid, and pop it in a 350 degree (covered) for two hours to two and a half hours (depending on the weight of the chicken(s)). Geneva, my daughter, used a largish roasting pan that held both chickens and the 100 cloves of garlic.

When done, the chicken meat will fall off the the bones.  Lift the garlic cloves from around the chicken out of the stock with a slotted spoon and serve as a garnish.  The stock may be served as gravey, or used later in a soup.  Serve with broccoli, green beans, or zuccini, and your favorite carb (potatoes, pasta, rice).  Toasted bagette slices are a great addition.

Women love the dish because of its ease of preparation and the wonderful aroma imparted to the house as the chicken cooks.  Men love the dish because of the extravagant abundance of garlic, which becomes a sensory indulgence during the meal.  The cloves may be squeezed with the fingers onto the chicken or pasta or toasted baguette slices.  Or they may be eaten whole.  They have a surprisingly buttery taste.

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Filed under Uncategorized

Why Men are Happier

Well, on the Fourth of July, I’ve had fun with family and friends.  I have also figured out how to solve a problem with a tiling project in the kitchen.  And, I have not had time or attention to post another blog.  But in the closing minutes of this holiday, I opened an email from Dad (who’s escaping Texas rain in parched Arizona) to find a bit of spam which I’m actually going to share with you in a moment.

First, in the spirit of this holiday, I salute our nation’s armed forces in Iraq.  The photo below is my friend of 37 years, retired from the United States Army, recalled to active duty 12 years later, and now serving American interests in Iraq.  He is sitting on one of Saddam’s thrones, located in one of Saddam’s palaces, which now contains the offices of various military organizations, missions, and departments.  Col. Mike tells me that this is one of the most photographed thrones in the world, and it is also one on which more soldiers have sat than any throne which ever existed.

Yet another American soldier sitting on Saddam’s throne.

Col. Mike looks happy, and so this photograph serves well for the bit of spam Dad sent me, written by a woman, who is explaining why (according to her lights) men are happier.  Happier than women, of course.  Here’s how she explains it:

What do you expect from such simple creatures? Your last name stays put. The garage is all yours. Wedding plans take care of themselves. Chocolate is just another snack.  You can be President. You can never be pregnant. You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park. You can wear NO shirt to a water park. Car mechanics tell you the truth.    

The world is your urinal. You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky. You don’t have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt. Same work, more pay. Wrinkles add character. Graying hair adds attraction.  Wedding dress~$5000. Tux rental~$100. People never stare at your chest when you’re talking to them. The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected. New shoes don’t cut, blister, or mangle your feet. One mood all the time. Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat. You know stuff about tanks.

A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase. You can open all your own jars. You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness. If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend. Your underwear is $8.95 for a three-pack. Three pairs of shoes are more than enough. You almost never have strap problems in public. You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.

Everything on your face stays its original color. The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades. You only have to shave your face and neck.  You can play with toys all your life. Your belly usually hides your big hips. One wallet and one pair of shoes one color for all seasons. You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look. You can “do” your nails with a pocket knife, or your teeth. You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache. You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24 in 25 minutes.

 Can it possibly be true that this explains the rise of feminism in the middle of the 20th Century?

 Nawwww.  Too easy, that.

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Filed under Man, the glory of God, Man, the Savior